Tales from the Crypt: Monster Mashed
by xXSlasherXx
Summary: Mystery Incorporated has found themselves in a rather lurid situation: kidnapped by the villains they took down in the past. But as the night progresses, this evil party just might take a horrific turn...
1. Chapter 1

_(Opening Sequence)_

 _Thunder roars as a gate with an inimical carving of a dragon forebodingly creaks open for you. Lightning crackles overhead as you make your way through the fogginess of the creepy yard. Overlooking it from atop a rather steep hill is a ramshackle of a mansion. Rasping caws from unseen birds float down from the dusky skies as you approach the door of the lurid manor. An echoing screech sounds from the interior of the mansion before the door opens. Your gaze scans the dusty foyer and cobwebbed furniture before you make your way past the staircase into a study. A bookcase opens like a door and reveals a stone stairwell, flames burning in the mouths of despairing faces carved into the stone columns aligning it. Your descent ends at the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs; it swings open and you step into the candlelit, whispery crypt―its residents several skeletons. But in the heart of the crypt…you catch sight of a slender casket. You gradually approach it…take in the elegance of its white surface…_

 _And the lid swings open. Out pops the cackling decaying host, the Cryptkeeper, eyes cadaverous and maniacal. Green slime pours down the screen, and the title logo appears:_

" _TALES FROM THE CRYPT!"_

* * *

At his rickety desk, the Cryptkeeper holds a cracked magnifying glass before his undead eye. "Welcome kiddies! Welcome to a bloodcurdling session of _Tales from the Crypt."_ He carelessly tosses away the magnifying glass. "Y'know, your old pal Cryptkeeper has always been quite the _fear_ -leader for anything emanating from the savory chill of the spine-tingling genre of horror, but that shouldn't imply that I don't enjoy a nice _mystery_ on occasion. In fact, tonight's tale of terror centers around four teenage sleuths and their talking canine. Their public alias: _Mystery Incorporated."_

He reaches under the desk and blows a layer of dust off the leather cover of a thick book, drops it onto the desk's surface, and opens it to a chilling picture: voodoo dolls of Fred Jones, Daphne Blake, Velma Dinkley, and Shaggy Rogers hung from nooses, the background nothing but darkness. Outstretching from the black are two spindly hands. One holds a voodoo doll of Scooby-Doo and the other a long lethal needle.

"Foiling the misdeeds of ambitious villains is bound to spell trouble in the future for _any_ Private _Die!"_ he shrilly punned. "And it would seem that the bitterness of their enemies has come back to bite our poor crime solvers in their well-meaning rears...

"I call this tale: _Monster Mashed."_

* * *

 **Monster Mashed**

The Faux Ghost was a nightclub that played host to a rather _anomalous_ demographic of patrons. The definition of anomalous:every creep in Coolsville that had played the clandestine role as the "mastermind" of some horrifying scheme that featured the feigned presence of various paranormal entities. For a year and a half, the notorious men and women had nightly coalesced to furiously devise the baleful event that was to transpire within the walls of the lavish lair tonight.

For a considerable amount of the vanquished villains, employment was a near impossibility. Their once-clean records were stained immensely after being revealed as murderous, avaricious frauds, and nearly all of them descended into poverty following their release from prison. These criminals had had various goals in mind when they terrorized various establishments and areas in disguise, but they'd all felt the same ireful lust for vengeance upon the crime-solving youth. Now, after a lengthy period of going over the meticulous details of the kidnapping plot, everything had fallen into place. The Faux Ghost's parking lot had never been more crowded; vehicles owned by every villain to have been thwarted by Mystery Incorporated filled every square of black pavement before the club.

None of them dared to miss this glorious event…

Milton Wickles, former curator of the County Museum, glared at the setting sun as its orange reflection gleamed menacingly upon the lens of his spectacles. The failure of his art heist―doubled with his exposure as "The Black Knight Ghost"―landed him a lowly job at a community library, an occupation far below his strengths. He was but one out of the incensed legion of criminals that sought reprisal.

He angrily pulled back the sleeve of his trench coat and glowered down at his watch. "Where _are_ Carswell and that illiterate hick?" he lowly snarled. It was ten minutes until six and the patrons inside were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the _honored guests._

By the time it had reached six, the sun was gone, and the night's ingress had commenced. "Ah…" Mister Wickles's swollen gut compressed a sigh of relief when the tie-dyed van rolled into the parking lot, its headlights beaming bright as it came to a stop before Mr. Wickles. He―like everyone else inside the Faux Ghost would―recognized this insufferably splendorous vehicle as the Mystery Machine.

"It's about time!" he barked at the old man stumbling out of the passenger door.

Hank―who'd rose horror at the Gold City Guest Ranch as "The Miner 49er"―apprehensively shrunk away. "Dag-blasted, it was a _nightmare_ deciphering that there map! My brain ain't what it used to be, y'know!"

Former bank president Deacon Carswell scoffed as he turned off the engine and made his way around the Mystery Machine. "Quiet, old man. If you had enough vigor to chase guests through that rattrap tourist attraction, your gray matter should at least be competent enough to―!"

"Bicker on your own time!" Mr. Wickles snapped. "I assume they're all in the back, Carswell?"

Carswell―revealed by Mystery Incorporated to have been "The Creeper"―sneered and responded with a solemn nod. The trio walked to the back of the van, Wickles leading the formation. With not a moment's hesitation, he threw open the doors so that he and his cohorts could glare down at the wriggling pentad―gagged and bound in thick ropes. Shaggy, Daphne, Velma, Fred, and Scooby looked helplessly up at the surly glares of their captors. Underneath his muzzle, Scooby whimpered.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Wickles clapped his hands together. "Our meddling party favors have arrived…"


	2. Chapter 2

Bobby Pickett's _Monster Mash_ pulsated from the club's sound system over the excited cheers emanating from the villains that watched the bound members of Mystery Incorporated being hauled/dragged into the Faux Ghost. Velma whimpered fearfully in the arms of Carswell as he carried her bridal-style through the club's entrance. "I haven't forgotten about that kick in the shin you gave me, you little _runt,"_ he snarled to her. And then he silently savored the shudder of dread that quaked through her anatomy as she recalled said moment of that particular mystery.

In the massive biceps of former stuntman Carl Bittern – "The Ape Man" who'd sabotaged the production of a movie out of resentment for not being given the role of the male lead – Fred violently struggled against his hold, hurling muffled expletives towards him under his gag. "What's that, pretty boy? I can't understand a _thing_ you're saying," Carl taunted.

"Ya dag-gone mutt! Quit yer whining!" Hank shouted at Scooby, his decrepit arms fighting to keep the scared Great Dane in his hold. It would've been so much easier if he was one of those pekingese pups, Hank thought miserably.

Daphne wriggled over the pudgy shoulder of Klaus Greenway – "The Snow Ghost" who'd frightened away guests from his smuggling operation of diamonds and jewels while employed as the manager at Wolf's End Lodge – as she exchanged looks of terror with Shaggy, who was being carried in next. "So light, my dear. Still haven't taken to regular meals since Wolf's End, eh?" Greenway coldly mocked before emitting a chilling guffaw.

As he was dragged into the Faux Ghost like a bag of garbage by Stuart Wetherby – "The Ghost of Elias Kingston" – Shaggy's eyes fearfully scanned the interior of the club and fell upon the murderous glares and sneers of the many perpetrators that had been jailed by he and his friends. At the pool table Captain Cutler and Harry the Hypnotist – "The Clown Ghost" – abandoned their game of pool the moment the group's presence had been presented. Former lawyers Cosgood Creeps and Cuthbert Crawls – "The Phantom Shadows" who'd avariciously sought the fortune of Colonel Beauregard Sanders and attempted to frighten away all potential inheritors from his estate – sat their drinks down at the bar and sauntered over to the rest of their fellow villains. Five dartboards with a picture of each member of Mystery Incorporated taped to them were riddled with several darts flung by Henry Bascombe – "The Spooky Space Kook" – and Mama Mione – "Old Iron Face".

Like so many others, they ceased their current activity to join the crowding ring sending cheers towards their prey. There were so many more, too many to count, Shaggy realized. They were at the mercy of every contribution to their string of success…

Wickles led the carriers through the massive throng of dastardly-doers. "Move aside! Move aside!"

Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted as the teens were carried to the center of the club and then heartlessly flung one by one under the establishment's wide skylight. Daphne curled up in fear at Shaggy's side while Scooby whimpered at her feet. Fred glared his defiance up at the smirking Wickles. Velma's glasses had fallen from her face upon her rough impact with the floor and skittered across the floor before the feet of Dr. Najib – "The Mummy of Ankha".

The Middle Eastern man raised his foot and stomped upon Velma's glasses, shattering the lenses with sadistic glee. "Oh, dear…I do hope those weren't _prescription_ glasses." He and several surrounding villains howled with laughter that resonated through the five sleuths.

Wickles then spun around and addressed the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, a great round of applause for our honored guests: _The ill-fated Mystery Incorporated!"_

 _Monster Mash_ was barely able to be heard over the thundering screams that Wickles invoked.

"Let's see if they have any _final_ words," he purred as he approached the subdued group and removed Daphne's gag. "Ladies first."

"Why are you doing this?" she automatically shouted. "Let us _go!"_

The second part of her demand he (predictably) would ignore. "Surely you aren't _that_ mentally inept, child. It's a simple word called revenge."

"Revenge for ruining your _schemes?"_ she shrilly replied. "You think you'd learn from your past mistakes and try to lead _normal_ lives!"

Shaggy wanted to reprimand Daphne for mouthing off to a mob of bad guys, and the hysterical look in his eyes portrayed his apprehension quite vividly.

At her comment, the villains as a whole went quiet, _Monster Mash_ now easily heard, but its cheerful tune conflicting with the explicit bitterness seeping into the atmosphere.

"Leading normal lives is no longer an option – _for any of us!"_ he roared. "Thanks to you meddlesome brats _unmasking_ us! But tonight…" He chuckled madly. "…we even the score."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** There is something I'd like to clarify for the readers: The villains at the party are those of the three original seasons of _SDWAY._ Each and every villain from that timeframe are in this story, even if they aren't mentioned. That's all!

* * *

Master P's _Scream_ was now pulsing ominously through the Faux Ghost. Several villains had gone to the storage at the back of the club to gather various weapons, while the majority stood behind to converse and enjoy the festive moments before the "main event" of the evening commenced. And judging from the ill-omened glances many of them stole towards their captives, dread was the most appropriate emotion to be felt. Various methods of murder were exchanged amongst them in very gory detail.

The club was enormous, but had only two exits: the main entrance and the one in the club's rear. The only window was the wide skylight above their heads, casting a square spotlight upon Mystery Incorporated as though in acknowledgement of their dire position.

Velma shakily whispered to Fred, "There must be some way out of here. Whatever they're planning…it can't end well for us."

Fred's jaw clenched, his fear mirroring Velma's. "If there's any way out of this, we'd better figure it out _soon_ before…" He gulped audibly and didn't speak the end of his prediction.

"Like, we're going to be trophies on their mantels if we don't get the heck out of here, man!" Shaggy moaned.

"And what a _delightful_ incentive that is!" Mr. Pietro – "The Phantom Puppeteer" – jovially exclaimed. The five of them jumped at the sound of the former toymaker's gravelly voice. His presence hadn't been acknowledged until after he'd spoken. "I must say: I don't think I've made so much as _one_ puppet that's head was more hollow than yours, little hippie." He roughly jabbed Shaggy's forehead with his spindly finger.

"Leave him alone!" Fred exclaimed. Despite the position they were in, the friends would never tolerate one of their own being played with like a worn chewtoy.

Pietro sneered towards Fred. "Your corpse will make a _splendid_ design for a life-sized Ken doll, wouldn't you agree? Excuse me while I go converse with dear Wickles."

The counterfeiter walked over to the club's bar to Wickles, who sat down his drink as Pietro whispered to him. Wickles's eyes widened slightly before he shot a nasty smirk towards the captured group. "Is that correct? Well let's see which countermeasure we can employ so that our rats don't escape their cage."

At that, Bluestone the Great – "The Phantom of Haunted Isle" – piped up, as though he'd been waiting all night for this particular opportunity to offer a form of service. "Might I be of assistance? I have a few tools from my magician days that could aid us in keeping our guests from escaping…"

Pietro and Wickles both turned to Bluestone. "We're listening," said Wickles.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the doors of the club were chained shut by thick titanium chains that sported a heavy padlock before them. To test their sturdiness, Bluestone pulled the doors' handles. Not so much as a rattle from the chain's thick links, or even a groan of protest from the entrance doors. "Ah, yes! No one will be escaping this establishment tonight. These chains were used in one of my greatest magical performances, you know! The audience was utterly _spellbinded_ by - !"

"Cease your self-flattering loquacity and give me the key, you washed-up Houdini," Wickles snarled while Hank and Carswell sniggered like a pair of little boys behind him. With a glare of bloody murder, Bluestone tossed the key at him. Wickles pocketed it and went to further taunt the members of Mystery Incorporated, Hank and Carswell following close behind.

"I must say, dear sleuths, if I had known how _elementary_ group cooperation would've made your capture you would've been in our clutches the first day of my release from prison," he sighed peacefully. "No masks. No tedious investigations. No exhausting chases. Not even any bitter exclamations of - !"

"Let me guess: _us meddling kids?"_ Daphne said with exaggerated weariness.

Wickles's glare flickered. He quietly approached Daphne and… _slapped_ her. Hard. The noise of his palm making stinging contact with her face audible mainly to him and Daphne's friends. Daphne shrieked in pain as the force of the blow whipped her head into Shaggy's shoulder. Though Velma's near-sighted optics couldn't see what had happened, the sound alone made her gasp.

"Your sass will deduce your final hours _alive,_ my dear," he murderously warned the now-quivering redhead.

"ASSHOLE!" exploded Shaggy. The unadulterated rage in his voice was frighteningly out of character for the easygoing hippie. "YOU GODDAM COWARDS! ALL OF YOU!"

Not a nervous chuckle or one _like_ was included in his outburst.

"Ooooh, well look at this! The useless hippie actually grew a _spine_ while we were away," Wickles remarked, grabbing a fistful of Shaggy's hair. "I'm going to enjoy ripping it out…"


	4. Chapter 4

"Daphne! Shaggy! Are you both alright?" Velma cried.

"Like, yeah," Shaggy weakly replied, though his scalp ached severely. "What about you, Daph?"

The sting of Wickles's open-palmed blow lingered faintly on her cheek. "Yes. But how much longer it'll stay that way I'm not too certain of…"

As if on cue, the club's lights dimmed to a malevolent scarlet as the villains who'd went into the storage room returned with various weapons. A sea of wicked simpers surrounded the fearful five; their visible fear indicated their acknowledgement of the "main event" at last commencing. With the vicious tune of _Getting Away With Murder_ by Papa Roach providing vindictive ambience, the circle of several of the villains began to collectively enclose around the teens and their dog.

Hank's withered face wore deranged menace as he crept towards the group with a rusted pickaxe. Carswell toyed with a noose in his hands. A chainsaw revved to life in Greenway's bloated grasp. C.L. Magnus – "The Ghost of Redbeard" – kept his grasp tight around the lethal cutlass in his hand. Though he was the only one without a weapon, Wickles led the circle with an aura of leadership. The rest of the villains served as the anticipating audience, licking their lips and bouncing madly in their seats. They psychotically desired to hear their screams, the wet sounds of their flesh tearing, their blood splattering over the club's interior like indoor sprinklers of crimson…

 _"L-Like, I think this is it,"_ Shaggy hissed, his voice thick with despair. Scooby's canine frame tremored furiously with fear across Shaggy and Daphne's lap. Velma closed her eyes and buried her head in Fred's shoulder, briefly thankful for once to not have her glasses, her own grim demise something she sought no clear vision of.

Beads of sweat rolled down Fred's masculine complexion, fear and anger mixed together within the pointed glare he cast up at Wickles.

"So, Fred, our _fearless leader._ What trap have you set that'll get you and your friends out of this pickle?" Wickles spat. "What _ace in the hole_ do you have under your sleeve? I hold the only key to your freedom! _Our_ trap is one that offers no escape! Ironic, no?"

"Enough talk!" Carl shouted from the audience.

"SKIN THEIR MYSTERY-SOLVING REARS!" screamed Mama Mione.

 _"You..."_ Fred growled through clenched teeth, _"...have the only key?"_

Wickles's beady eyes narrowed to derisive slits. "That's right, dear himbo."

Instantly, the unnerved expression on Fred's face evaporated, being replaced by a cocky sneer. "Then we can cut the crap now."

Wickles blinked. "What…?"

Fred threw back his head and shouted up to the skylight, "NOW, SCRAPPY!"

The villains had no time to react to Fred's confounding outburst, for large shards of thick glass came raining down upon them. Hank dropped his pickaxe and curled up on the floor to shield himself from the shattered fragments. The crowd of villains screamed collectively and shuffled away from the vicinity of the falling shards. Wickles released a startled cry and fell to his knees, covering the back of his head with his arms.

One zipped down past Greenway's wrist, gracefully slicing through the back of his hand. The swift agony made him emit a croaking scream as the fully alive chainsaw fell from his grasp and cut through his shoe. Within seconds, he had toppled to the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs as his own intended tool of murder assaulted his left foot. His shoe and foot were horrendously shredded. Hank looked up just in time to be sprayed in the face by the blood spouting from Greenway's mutilated stub of an ankle. Hank gasped and gagged at the metallic tang intruding the dry regions of his mouth, and then screamed in terror at the sight of Greenway's severed foot.

Shards of the club's skylight were impaled into the floor like transparent stalagmites after the glassy assault had ceased. Wickles stood sharply. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Over the sound of Greenway's screams and the screeching volume of the song playing, an exhilarated battle cry floated down from the gaping hole where the skylight once was.

 _"PUUUUUUPPY POWEEEEER!"_

Wickles's head shot up to see the small, frenetic puppy diving down towards him, eyes burning with determination and little paw wrapped around a large crowbar. Before any perplexed exclamation could leave him, Wickles was knocked out cold.


	5. Chapter 5

Wickles's bald dome was caked with blood and throbbing with surreal agony when he came to. There was no music playing, and everything was as silent as death, save the indiscernible murmurs of seven individuals who couldn't be identified. With a groan, Wickles attempted to move, but was held in place by thick ropes keeping him bound to one of the club's wooden carved chairs. A confounded gasp escaped him as his sight became more limpid; Scrappy was seated upon his uncle's back at the club's sitting lounge, chatting hyperactively with him. He spotted Shaggy at the bar, casually eating a rather thick sandwich while Velma held her demolished glasses with perspicuous dismay.

"Hey, gang! He's awake!" Daphne cried joyfully. Wickles turned his head to see that the redhead had been standing next to him the entire time, and Fred had been on the opposite side of Wickles. They all made their way over to the area below the shattered skylight – ironically where they had all been bound and helpless moments ago.

"I did good, didn't I, uncle Scooby? _Didn't_ I? Huh?" The puppy hopped eagerly up and down on Scooby's back.

"Like, settle down, Scrap," Shaggy chided, his mouth half-full of the contents of his sloppy-looking sandwich. "You did a great job. Anyone with eyes can see that."

Daphne scampered off, up the steps to the DJ station.

"What…what's happened…?" Wickles moaned.

Fred sneered. "You've been _duped,_ Wickles. We allowed ourselves to be captured by you and your goons. We had an informant on the inside who alerted us of what you creeps were planning."

"Informant?" Wickles hissed. _"Who?!"_

"The _washed-up Houdini,_ Wickles," spoke a bitter voice from the shadows of the storage room. Emerging from the room was none other than Bluestone the Great, his chains taken from the doors and put away in the storage room. He sneered as he approached Wickles.

"BLUESTONE! _YOU?"_

"Bluestone was the only villain we succeeded in reforming," Velma explained. "We convinced the police to shorten his sentence so long as he operated on the side of the law. He let us know of this little party weeks prior." Frustrated, she flung her irreparable glasses away and walked off.

As outraged as Wickles was at this revelation, the fact that it was so quiet was what was stealing his notice. Where _was_ everyone? Where were his cohorts? The chains of the doors were gone. Had they abandoned the club? Why? Wickles couldn't detect the flashing of any police cars. And even with Bluestone being on their side and that annoying runt appearing out of the blue as reinforcements, the villains still would've had them massively outnumbered. Where…?

Shaggy hacked violently on a bone in his sandwich before flinging the whole thing to the floor. "Like, I guess the _falling right off the bone_ thing only applies to _cooked_ meat!"

A wrinkle of disgust formed over Wickles's nose as he gaped down at the chomped remains of the content between the sandwich's bread: a half-eaten foot. A half-eaten _human_ foot. _Greenway's_ foot. Next to the cannibal's sandwich was Greenway's _corpse_ – throat slashed and eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. His horror amplified when he spotted Hank's dead body not too far away from Greenway's - his throat ripped out as well. At Hank's feet was Carswell, as dead as the other two villains, an immense pool of blood connecting their mangled corpses. Not only them…but every other villain in the Faux Ghost! Wickles's gaze scanned the entire floor and saw that every villain who had showed up was gathered in a massive pile of bodies around him. Each and every one of them dead via an eviscerated throat. Velma had just returned, dragging Dr. Najib's body to the horrid gathering of carcasses, when Wickles's scream was finally unleashed.

A massacre had transpired while he was unconscious – he was the only one of the kidnappers still alive.

Up in the DJ station, Daphne fumbled around with the system, and _Eat You Up_ by BOA erupted from the speakers and filled the club.

"Nice touch, Daph!" Fred called with a grin of mischief.

Through his dread and confusion, Wickles was shocked at the equanimity Bluestone's expression sported at the sight of the dead criminals. When Velma approached him, he humbly took her hand and planted a light kiss to the back of her palm, his allegiance to her and the others eerily confirmed through that sole gesture. "You've done your chore, Bluestone. Report back to your parole officer," Velma appreciatively ordered.

"At your dismissal," he replied before making his exit through the unchained doors.

Daphne walked down from the DJ station with a sneer as uncharacteristically inimical as Fred's. "Awww…he's absolutely confused. Let us clarify something for you, Wickles: Bluestone suggesting that you chain the doors wasn't to keep us in…"

"But to keep you baddies from getting _out!"_ Scrappy ardently yelped atop Scooby's back.

Scooby chuckled a sinister version of his signature laugh. _"Reah – rout…"_

The detectives all stood before the ring of bodies piled around Wickles, sneering collectively as he squirmed. They all held an ominous aura that had not been present for one _millisecond_ of the night they caught him. These kids had just committed mass murder! How? How was it humanly possible for them to achieve such?

"Like, playing helpless really paid off this time, eh?" Shaggy stated, eyeing the bodies.

"Chasing down fake monsters like yourselves holds it own reward in morality," Velma purred, "but, by the end of the day, we're content with unmasking you pathetic _impersonators._ Do you have any idea what bad names you give those of our kind?"

 _"What are you saying?! Who are you people?!"_ wailed Wickles.

Instead of answering his question, the six of them trained their focus to the demolished skylight above.

"We remember how strenuous it was for all of us to remain focused during your caper, Mister _Black Knight,"_ Velma condescendingly spoke, not looking away from the skylight's hole. "Not because it was one of our more bemusing mysteries. But because it was during a certain time when it's difficult for us to _contain_ ourselves…"

The dark clouds slowly parted, and the moon's lunar gleam seeped in through the hole in the ceiling.

"The full moon," Shaggy moaned, his voice tinged by ecstasy.

 _Can't stop thinking 'bout the things I want to do to you!_

 _If you move any closer you'd be asking for it too!_

 _I want your love, I need your touch!_

 _So much I think I'm in love!_

Shaggy's beastly snarl was the first to ripple through the music playing, and further terrify the white-knuckled Wickles. He unleashed another scream as Shaggy's irises flooded with yellow and his pupils expanded. He fell to his knees, his gangling anatomy convulsing, and his shirt and pants starting to tear. Scrappy rolled and toppled off of Scooby onto the floor, a horrible snapping noise sounding under his skin as the exact eerie yellow as the one in Shaggy's eyes flooded his. Scooby's mouth became full of jagged, wolfish teeth and emitted demonic growls, his yellow eyes glowing, and black claws extending from his tremoring paws.

Velma and Fred both joined Scrappy in falling to the floor and participating in spasmodic writhing, their yellow eyes glaring up at the full moon while their clothing tore, and claws and monstrous teeth protruded from the appropriate areas of their anatomies.

Wickles continued to wail as he watched the teens and dogs transform under the moon's spotlight, growls emanating from them. Their faces extended grotesquely into muzzles, and chestnut fur slowly sprouted from their contorting limbs. Amidst his transformation, Fred's claw ripped away his orange ascot and what remained of his tattered sweater to reveal his furry torso steadily growing into the form of a giant wolf. Velma's orange socks were torn away via the transformation process, her red Mary Janes exploded, giving way to the lethal claws her formerly human feet were converting into.

The song and Wickles's screams fused into one over the lurid sounds of the famed members of Mystery Incorporated turning into werewolves. He screamed desperately for help – aware through his fear that no one would be coming to his aid. Anyone possessing so much as a _quarter_ of Wickles's intellect would've known there was no one who could – or would – possibly save him from the lupine nightmare his intelligently planned festivity had turned into.

Scooby's blue collar fell to the floor and was stomped upon by its wearer, who had transformed into the biggest wolf of the entire group. Scrappy was now a pony-sized wolf barking savagely between his uncle's front legs, mimicking his bold gesture of stomping upon his own collar. Velma was at the lower end of the circle of bodies, her wolfish teeth feasting and gnawing at Najib's skull. Fred and Shaggy were a bulky and angular wolf, engaged in an unholy game of tug-of-war with Greenway's body with their teeth – Fred tugging at his leg and Shaggy his arm.

It wouldn't be long before his insides would spill upon the floor when the ruthless force of their tugs bisected his swollen waist. Wickles thrashed and screamed for a bit more until his neck was seized in Daphne's strangulating grasp, bringing his cries down to unmanned wheezes. She was still in her human form, but her manicured nails were slowly sliding out of her pampered digits as inhumane claws that gradually broke through the surface of Wickles's damp neck.

Small streams of blood leaked over the breaking purple nail polish upon Daphne's growing nails. She looked back at her feasting pack, hungrily licking her lips. She turned back to Wickles with scrutinizing eyes, and a growl rumbling in her throat. Her orange tresses flew backwards through the air as she whipped back her head; a lascivious moan floated from her mouth as she took in the glorious sight of the full moon. She whipped her head back down, half her face encased menacingly in shadow, and her visible eye glowing yellow.

Scooby stomped over to Daphne, his large wolf head studying the beautiful lycan, waiting for her next move. His giant yellow eyes then turned to the sounds of Wickles's hacks. Scrappy was left behind, munching on Carl's muscular calf.

Daphne glanced affectionately at Scooby before turning back to Wickles with a grin full of salivating fangs. "You…have _totally_ ruined my diet," she jeered before lunging forward and sinking her teeth into Wickles's throat. Following the fading of his bloodcurdling screams, Scooby would throw his head back to howl a cry that would resonate up through the skylight and out through the club's surrounding vicinity.

"SCOOBY-DOOBY _AWWWRRRROOOOOOOO!"_

In the parking lot, Bluestone smirked at the sound of the canine's victorious siren as he drove away from the all-you-can-eat creep buffet.


	6. Epilogue

_"Police officials remain baffled and without any possible leads as to who took part in the vicious, cannibalized massacre that had transpired at the exclusive nightclub located within the heart of the Coolsville forest area, The Faux Ghost. The victims were all criminals thwarted by the young members of Mystery Incorporated. More than forty ex-convicts are dead, their corpses savagely mauled, if not piles of skeletal remains. A press conference at the town hall with the mayor of Coolsville and Sheriff of the Coolsville police department is scheduled for - "_

 _"Bored_ now," Daphne groaned, changing the channel. Since noon the following day of the party, the Faux Ghost Massacre had been all over the news, social media, and exchanged between everyone in surrounding communities. The gang had decided to crash at Daphne's place when dawn came.

It was nighttime once again, and they were all lounging in the lavish parlor, each of them dressed in white bathrobes. Velma was seated in an elegant carved chair, ordering another pair of glasses from her eye doctor. Scrappy, still tuckered out from last night's mayhem, lay in Daphne's lap, his head being stroked as he snored lightly.

"Like, you sure you don't want some of the leftovers, Daph?" Shaggy called across the parlor. She looked towards Fred, Shaggy, and Scooby, who were sitting on the carpeted floor, gathered before the fireplace preparing the "leftovers": Carswell's severed leg roasting above the fire on a spit.

As heavenly as the succulent aroma was...

"I'm _still_ picking Wickles out of my teeth," Daphne said as she rolled her eyes. "Besides, you know that my cheat days are limited only to full-moon nights, Shaggy."

Scooby sniggered next to Shaggy, watching his owner distribute a stream of barbecue sauce over the leg with a ladle. "Like, that's only _woodland creatures,_ man! Not everyday we get to snack on goons in massive heaps."

She sighed. _"Fine._ Save me his calf. And don't get any barbecue sauce in the carpet!"

Society would probably never discover the ironic truth about Mystery Incorporated. That the teenagers and dog who unmasked fake monsters were the _real_ monsters - _werewolves_. Daphne's parents were out buying new clothes for her friends, as was the protocol after their nights as wolves concluded.

Velma sat her phone down. "I'm getting a little famished, myself," she said, and joined the boys in their macabre feast.

Daphne watched Shaggy jab a barbecue fork into the thigh and carve out a charred slab, while Fred waited eagerly with a plate. Defeated, she gingerly picked up the napping Scrappy and lay him on one of the decorative pillows; the puppy stirred slightly, a low bark escaping him. He was no doubt dreaming about fighting criminals.

"Ah, she joins us!" Fred said cheerfully when Daphne approached.

Shaggy chuckled as he began to cut Daphne's desired portion. "Like, you want original recipe or extra crispy?"

Daphne grinned. _"Hardy-har_ , Shaggy."

A sound effect signaling a notification whistled from Velma's Samsung tablet. She hurried back to couch and then returned. "Jinkies..."

"More news about our kills?" Fred asked, his mouth half-full of his portion of Carswell's limb.

"Nope. Just some toy factory being terrorized by some ghost - "

"Ah, ah, ah!" Shaggy interjected. "Like, lunch first - mystery solving _later."_

Scooby Doo chuckled. _"Runch rirst."_

With a sly smile, she took a plate. "Alright, you goofballs. Inner thigh, please."

"Zoinks," Shaggy murmured, "I gave Fred that one. But, like, don't worry, Velma. There's plenty more _leftovers_ from the Faux Ghost in the deep freezer in Daph's garage..."

The yellow glow fleetingly returned to Shaggy's eyes...

* * *

With a demented laugh, the Cryptkeeper closed the book. "Well now, how was _that_ for a howling good time, kiddies? The poor villains learned too late that things were not always as they appeared. Mystery Incorporated weren't the students nor the teachers: they were the _lesson._

"You see, like the villains who terrorized them, Mystery Incorporated wore masks of their _own._ Masks of _humanity,_ that is. I guess you could say that they were all _wolves in sheep's_ _clothing!_ " The Cryptkeeper then grabbed the top of his own head. "Ready for one final twist, kiddies? And the true identity of the Cryptkeeper is..."

He yanked his white hair - resulting in his entire head being ripped from his body. "Whoops...I sometimes forget that this isn't a _mask_. Guess your pal the Cryptkeeper isn't cut out for the detective business," said his severed head, still grasped in his decayed hand. "I'd best quit while I'm _a head! AHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"_


End file.
